


Drift Incompatible

by 7PercentSolution



Series: At The Edge of Our Hope [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Ghost Drifting, John is a healthy habits nag, M/M, Pacific Rim AU, Romance, Sex advice by Ranger Holmes, Trojan Horse of Fluff Fic, sherlock has a sweet tooth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 14:38:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16327895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7PercentSolution/pseuds/7PercentSolution
Summary: Now that they've become the superstars of the Ranger Corps, everybody wants a piece of Holmes and Watson. Thankfully, sometimes it's just a piece of advice.





	Drift Incompatible

**Author's Note:**

> It is a great privilege to be given the chance to play with J. Baillier’s toy boys from Drift Compatible. This was part of a birthday gift to her, in appreciation of the real life friendship that has resulted from our co-authorship. The phrase “Ghost Drifting” has pretty thoroughly replaced “cross post” in our messaging! 
> 
> This story takes place before the epilogue of Drift Compatible. You should read that story—otherwise this won't make a lick of sense.
> 
> J. Baillier provided the beta reading services, as is her prerogative.

 

The Ravager training sessions are going well. John had never expected them to be fun, but that is precisely what they have become. Back in the day, when he and Harry had been recruited, there had been a war on, so their training had been against a backdrop of desperate need. They’d gone into combat woefully unprepared for the full horror of it all, surviving their early skirmishes with more luck than skill. It had been hair-raisingly terrifying, and John's sanity had only been preserved by the utter brio with which Harry had approached the whole thing. John had always been the worrier of the twins—the one who had a tendency to focus on worst-case scenarios. Of course, they knew that death stalked their every moment in the Diablo Intercept, but not even he had wanted to accept that either or both of them could really perish in duty, let alone that he'd be the one left behind. John had mourned the loss of not just his sister but also his sense of purpose; survivor guilt had deprived him of the ability to enjoy life for nearly twenty years.

Until Sherlock arrived at Chard's Rift.

Now, John is relishing life to the full, growing closer every day to the man who has turned his whole world around. He’d never even dared to imagine what it would be like to be paired like this—as consenting adults able to share an intimate relationship as well as a co-operative combat role. However strong the connection had been with Harry, it was never as good as this. He and Sherlock are one, and the Jaeger machinery is simply an expression of the power of their minds working in tandem—they _are_ the Jaeger.

Though they are constantly connected through the Ghost Drifting made possible by their outstanding compatibility, their Ravager time is the moment where their mental connection reaches its pinnacle. An additional comfort factor in their training is that there's little pressure: the War Clock is currently on the longest ever gap between Breaches. This morning, it has read 3647 days. The long lull does have one downside: the fear that had gripped the world’s civilian populations is becoming a faint memory, and political pressure is mounting on the PPDC to cut costs so that governments could allocate more resources to rebuilding and economic recovery.

Still, all that feels very far away from their stronghold home of the Chard’s Rift Shatterdome. John tries not to worry about the rest of the world; for once, he's trying to just live in the moment.

He has been amazed at the technological improvements since his time with Diablo Intercept. Back then, the Jaeger had been a piece of hardware that he and Harry had to struggle to manage but now, two decades’ worth of software improvements mean a shared thought becomes reality with much less effort and strain on the pilots. The LOCCENT teams are over the moon with their performance, and already the Corps is making adaptations to the other Jaegers to try to bring them up to the higher standards of human-machine interface set by the Ravager.

All this means that, as the flagship Jaeger's pilot team, they always have an audience when training. Every exercise packs the LOCCENT full of Science Division employees flown in from other bases, trainees, brass and other curious onlookers. The attention has led to a bit of grumbling from other Rangers—mostly well-intentioned, based on the competitive spirit that is always a useful component of any fighting force. But, a few barbs are sharper, mostly coming from other pilot teams pairs jealous of the media attention and the fancier Jaeger tech they get to enjoy. John knows Sherlock deals with it better than he does, because these people haven't been the man's friend for decades. They were John's support network, his chosen family, for such a long time that it's not easy to accept that returning to active duty has also driven a wedge between him and the most jealous of his colleagues.

Stop wasting your time brooding about idiots, Sherlock's resigned thought intrudes.

With his head lying on John’s chest on a bed that's really too narrow for two people, their connection is so close that words are not needed to have a conversation.

I've been wondering… Do you prefer this to being linked by the neural bridge in the Ravager?Sherlock asks.

Hard one to answer,John replies, combing his fingersthrough the dark curls ticking his neck. The exclusivity is a part of what makes it so special.

As their relationship has deepened, Ghost Drifting is becoming their preferred method of communication. It’s as if the exchange is in high definition: three-dimensional sensation combined with much more than sound, vision, or touch could convey. Every thought shared comes packed with emotions and memories shared in a way that simple spoken language cannot possibly match. They’ve been keeping quiet about it, lest the Science teams get even more interested in them. Many pilot teams experience a much more diluted version of it; judging by everything John had experienced with Harry, and has heard and read since, their level of connection just might be unprecedented.

He feels the quirk of Sherlock’s smile against the bare skin of his chest at the same time as Sherlock’s emotions come through loud and clear: Go on, admit it. You can’t hide from _me._

Unlike his partner, John has only very rudimentary skills in shielding his thoughts, and he has never felt the need to conceal anything from Sherlock after they were given the Ravager assignment. Sherlock experiences not only his own excitement of being in the Ravager, but also feels John’s reactions, and vice versa.

You’re right, of course, John admits.I miss it when we're not doing it, but piloting is even better: the thrill of the chase; the blood pumping through our veins, just the two of us against all that is evil in this world. What about you?

I'd have to say sex still wins over all that. Can’t do _that_ in the Ravager.

John chuckles in reply. 

One cloud lingers on the horizon: their Jaeger, just like the two of them in terms of an exasperating amount of attention, is a victim of its own success. No one else has been able to hit the heights of neural connectivity that they have, and what the Ravager requires. Four other Ranger pairs have been tested on the simulations and their performance falls painfully short. In the judgment of the PPDC, this is a major problem that threatens to plunge their PR efforts back into the days when the Ravager was a constant source of humour in the press; it was regularly described as a white elephant of the PPDC.

It is, of course, too dangerous to risk such an expensive battle weapon in the hands of a sub-par crew. Without a full three-crew rota, the newest and most powerful Jaeger is only able to function a third of the time needed in combat since its two pilots do need time off. Unsurprisingly, the Atlantic Marshall is coming under pressure to find the other two crews soon, if the huge expense of building another one of the new generation Jaegers is ever going to be approved.  Rumours of new designs have been circulating for years, always held back due to the costs—much to the frustration of the Special Research and Development Unit and the disgust of the rest of the secretive Science Division. If anything new is going to get off the drawing boards, the Marshall has to show that the current Ravager could actually work to the required level. If it outstrips human capacity to operate it, then it would be a personal disaster for Mycroft Holmes, as well as hugely damaging to the reputation of the Corps at a crucial time in its history. John knows Sherlock relishes every bit of bad press and misfortune that befalls his brother, and the idea that Sherlock is being instrumental in saving at least part of his brother’s reputation will rankle with his sibling, for sure.

To solve the issue of the missing pilots, there has been a world-wide recruitment drive, promoted aggressively by the PPDC, to test every new recruit and every Ranger without a Jaeger assignment in the hopes of identifying a cadre that might be trained to use the Ravager interface. The LOCCENT teams are running a new selection simulation regime that should separate the wheat from the chaff.

Unfortunately, one of those who had passed at Chard’s Drift is Ranger Lee, as yet still unpaired and in search of a co-pilot. John hates the very thought of Lee being involved with the Ravager and, by extension, the two of them ever again, and prays that there won't ever be a suitable pairing with the arsehole. John can only hope that he won’t live to regret the decision he’d made back then not to charge Lee with the assault he’d witnessed. Sherlock had been keen to forget the whole incident, and John had reluctantly agreed to back his choice.

Lee hadn't received so much as a slap on the wrist. At least his partner-in-the-crime, Kitchener, had resigned the PPDC, disappointed at her assignment to the Ground Crew instead of the Ranger Corps.

"No need to make us even more of a target, John," had been Sherlock's reasoning to refrain from filing a complaint.

They _are_ a target, and not all of the Corps are on their side.

 

-o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o-

 

Warily, Sherlock eyes the mess hall. Ever since they’d been assigned to the Ravager, he’s had all his meals with John. Today is going to be the first exception, and like some idiot ingénue, he’s nervous being seen out in public without his other half.

John’s being interviewed at the moment by a visiting delegation from the Special Research & Development unit in Hong Kong. It’s something to do with an old project of his called the Guardian programme. It had happened well before Sherlock’s time, so he’d been shooed out of the room and told to go get something to eat. John hadn't seemed too keen on the interview; he seems bitter about the way many of the projects he had initiated before he had re-joined active pilot duty had been quietly buried by the brass. He seems to think he was allowed to dabble in such things as some sort of a consolation price for having survived when Harriet Watson died.

As he takes a tray and moves along the shuffling line, Sherlock doesn’t need to Ghost Drift with John to imagine exactly what the man would be telling him to put on his plate. John has become his dietician, trying to correct the faults of what the man sees as Sherlock's careless neglect of his physical needs for the past decade. John has worked hard for the past months to get back into shape and trying to lose the softness around his midsection, and that enthusiasm seems to be bleeding into trying to micromanage other people's habits. Sherlock never saw any need for such a fitness revolution for his partner; he had enjoyed looking at John before. A bit of extra muscle will not make that big a change, but to John it seems important to ' _look like a Ranger_ ', as he'd put it. Being older than all the other pilots at Chard's Rift seems to be a sore spot.

Grimacing at the sautéed greens and the roasted carrots with cumin seeds on offer, Sherlock decides that what John doesn’t know about his lunch today won’t hurt him. He heads straight for the desserts, and plucks out a dish of raspberry mousse cake, followed by a small plate with a chocolate brownie. Classic recipes—high sugar, high calorie, high fat and highly tasty.

He takes his tray over to an empty table, studiously ignoring the glances of the other diners. Ground crew who work on anything other than the Ravager can be ignored, and he isn’t in the mood for conversation.

Halfway through his brownie, he hears the clatter of a plastic tray being dumped on the seat across from him, the metal cutlery rattling at the same time as the chair is dragged out from the table, rasping against the concrete floor. The sound is like nails on a blackboard and he can barely suppress a flinch and a grimace.

He doesn’t even need to look up to know who the intruder is. Ranger Lee has a distinctive aroma, no doubt one that he cultivates very carefully: a masculine body odour barely obscured by standard-issue Corps body and hair shampoo flirts blatantly with a cheap, generic deodorant.

 _Sandalwood, sweat, musk and a pungent minty overtone—disgusting_.

It's a melange of scents Sherlock has come across exactly four times. The first had been when they were recruits on the same plane into Chard's Drift. The next time, when they were cadets on the dojo floor: Sherlock had comprehensively defeated the big man, applying his taekwondo skills against the undisciplined bulk and muscle. Then, he’d walked by the man when graduation ceremony allocated them both to the Jaeger Corps.

But, it is their last encounter that Sherlock remembers the best. Lee and Kitchener had caught him in a corridor and spewed their jealousy at him, blaming John’s favouritism and family nepotism for his being assigned to the Ravager, insinuating also that he'd performed sexual favours to get to where he was. Only John’s intervention had spared him from injury. Since then, Sherlock and Lee have studiously avoided contact.

Until now.

As the Ranger settles into the chair opposite, Sherlock stiffens in anticipation. Is he going to regret the fact that he had begged John not to follow through with a report that would have inevitably led to a court martial for assaulting a fellow Ranger?

A familiar awareness stirs at the back of Sherlock's mind; John has noticed the change in his mood. No reason for alarm—yet. They're in a public spot, and Lee's body language doesn't appear to be signalling aggression. Then again, Sherlock has always been terrible at reading other people. He takes a deep breath, tells himself to calm down, and John's presence wanes as he becomes reassured that Sherlock is not in danger.

Lee is leaning back in his chair, form hovering in mid-air. His plate is heavily laden with food. "Holmes. Glad I got you on your own. Been meaning to have a word in private with you, but it’s not easy, since you and Watson stick together like glue."

"What reason do you have to talk to me without John present?" The memory of the assault reappears with a vengeance, making Sherlock question if Lee would, after all, dare to attack him in plain sight of the others in the canteen. He had managed to convince himself he wasn't affected at all by what had happened, but his heart is still pounding and his eyes scouting escape routes.

He feels his name being called out in his head. John is becoming worried.  

"It’s kind of personal… Don’t want an old-timer like Watson to get the wrong idea." Lee emits an apprehensive chuckle that is probably supposed to defuse the tension.

All it does is put Sherlock even more on guard, but for now, Lee doesn't seem to be planning to wipe the floor with him. He pretends to scratch his ankle so that he can lean down, close his eyes and isolate John's presence in his head so that he can project calmness before shielding the man from his emotions. If John were to sense his nervousness, he'd undoubtedly storm in, and Sherlock's curiosity about what Lee is up to wouldn't be satisfied.

"The last time we spoke to one another, Ranger Watson was the only person between you and a career-limiting move," Sherlock warns his undesired table companion. "I would have thought you’d be more appreciative, especially when you consider that he spared you a court-martial."

"Yeah, well about that. I should have apologised, so this is me doing it now. I was pissed when you gave me the cold-shoulder, and I’m not great at explaining things. Kitchener had her own beef with the Corps, and you became her target. I just went along for the ride; thought that if she got as far as she bragged she could get, there might be some opportunities there, being on her good side. In a way, it’s relevant, my reasons for being angry before; it’s sort of what I need to ask you now."

Sherlock’s face must be betraying his confusion. He still won’t look Lee in the eye, and continues, instead, to poke his fork into the brownie. "That’s about as clear as mud, so you need to explain it better."

"Yeah, well; as I said, I’m not good at talking about this stuff. You and Watson, you’ve become poster boys for the Corps, and because of the Ravager, they seem willing to turn a blind eye to the fact that you two are more than just pilot and co-pilot. I wasn’t the most subtle when I tried it on with you back in the showers, but then you weren’t yet with Watson, so you can’t blame a bloke for trying when the guy is as detailed as you are."

 _'Detailed'?_ Sherlock doesn’t understand. He takes a bite of the brownie and hopes that the process of chewing it will buy him more time.

Lee shifts in the chair beside him. "In one way, it’s great. You two have broken the ice; it means people don't have to hide their orientations anymore. If they’ll take two gay guys, then they won’t freak about a few more bisexuals, me included. But, that’s actually kind of secondary to what I really wanted to ask."

Sherlock swallows the mouthful in a hurry. "Which is what, exactly? You need to be explicit; I’m not great at picking up ambiguous social clues." He’s becoming more willing to admit to such things, simply because John has worked hard to convince him he doesn’t need to hide them anymore. The Corps still has double standards when it comes to neurodiversity—they embrace it when it gives pilots abilities they can use, but they're still unwilling to accommodate as well as they should the particular needs of such Rangers. Finding out how good he is at Drifting means that Sherlock's confidence can handle being reminded of his difficulties. On occasion, he has plucked up the courage to demand that others to adapt to his needs rather than things being the other way around all the time.

"Yeah, okay. I’ll stop beating about the bush. Did you and Watson get it off together _before_ or _after_ you did the unilateral link that got you paired?"

Sherlock nearly chokes on the water he’s sipping. When he manages to stop coughing, he splutters out, "Why the hell do you think that's any business of yours?"

"It’s just… Everyone knows I haven’t got a co-pilot or a Jaeger assignment. There’s something getting in the way with most of the candidates they’ve tried on me, and I've begun to suspect that it's because I don’t feel any attraction to them. Nothing, nada, zippo. The whole process is the best cock block I’ve ever experienced. The thought of being paired with a pilot of either sex who I can’t get into bed with for the rest of my life is just killing me. My mental shields come up and nothing can get through. LOCCENT are beginning to despair of me, so I need some advice from you. You were failing at it even worse than I am, at first; threw everyone out of your head before Watson came along. How did it work for you two? How'd you get there, into a proper Drift?"

Sherlock sweeps the crumbs of the brownie to the side of his plate and puts his fork down. He’s slightly taken aback at the frankness of the discussion, especially coming from someone like Lee, but decides that he has to take the request for advice at face value. After all, the Corps Code of Conduct dictates that aid be given to any fellow Ranger who asks for it.

"John and I were physically attracted to each other prior to a full neural handshake. Enough that we both wished that it would involve a sexual relationship. Is that clear enough for you?"

"Yeah, it is, dammit. Problem is, I can hardly ask every candidate to hop in bed with me to see if things are going to work, can I? Geez, even the Corps has rules on sexual harassment."

"For good reason," Sherlock says quietly, watching the line of staff waiting to get their coffee mugs refilled.

With his peripheral vision, he can see Lee raising his hands in surrender.

"Okay, I hear you. I overstepped the mark with you in the shower. But, that goes to my point. How am I supposed to find out if someone is turned on by me and vice versa if I don’t try it on with them? Kitchener practically leapt on me, but she wasn't my type. Not that I found out until we actually ended up sharing a bunk for some hand-to-hand combat if you catch my meaning. I didn’t like her style, but that’s not something I am going to know unless we try. It’s like an audition, and I don’t know whether I should go for a guy or a girl, because I’m scared of having to choose _just the one_."

Sherlock refrains from pointing out that Lee hardly gets to _choose_ ; compatibility and aptitude are not dictated by the whims of a Ranger's libido. And, does Lee truly not think the other party has equal rights to choose?

"Does your bisexuality have a preference?" Sherlock asks, in an attempt to move the conversation forward. Forward to where, he has no idea.

Lee laughs. "Nope; I’m an equal opportunity lover. In fact, that’s one of the things that is weighing me down. If I pair with a guy and it goes sexual, then is that going to stop me from playing with dolls on the side? It’s like all pilots are monogamous partners for life or they don’t touch each other. Do you think it’s possible to be flexible?"

Sherlock considers. "I can only speak from personal experience. When the connection is so complete, when we are sharing our thoughts at such an intimate level, there is no way that we could have that sort of relationship with any other sexual partner. But, that's us; I can't speak for every Ranger in the Corps. Sibling pairs are different; John, being a non-identical twin, had a close, platonic relationship with his sister. I doubt either would have minded if the other had sex with someone on occasion, but I can't really say if they would have formed full romantic relationships with other people. After Drifting with John and being with him in other ways, I could never settle for a _normal_ relationship without Drifting. It just wouldn’t be the same. It couldn’t be."

Lee groans. "I was afraid you were going to say that. My subconscious just doesn’t like the prospect of being stuck on one person. Just isn’t in my nature. So, I’m fucked.  I’m never going to pair with anyone, and score or no score on the new Ravager test, I’ll be lucky to end up as some useless Fightmaster who never gets in on the action."

There is a tinge of despair running so deep in his tone and posture that for once, Sherlock stops feeling uncomfortable in his presence. He steeples his fingers under his chin, then his eyes narrow as the answer begins forming. "On the contrary—the solution is obvious."

Lee leans forward in his chair. "What do you mean?"

Sherlock slips his hands underneath the table, places them on his knees. "You just have to find another Ranger who has the same open-minded attitudes towards sex as you do. Some people find threesomes to be interesting. Not me, I hasten to add, but I’m just saying that the pair of you could indulge with other non-linked partners. Better yet, if you find a partner with voyeuristic tendencies. It's either that, or one of you or both needs to have some aptitude in shielding."

Lees eyes grow wide.  "Brilliant," he whispers. "I take it all back. I thought you were an annoying, arrogant prick, all high and mighty. Turns out that you are  _amazing."_

The big man gets up and says loudly enough for everyone in the canteen to hear, "Better believe it: Ranger Holmes is a _fucking_ _genius_." That being said, Lee collects his tray and heads over to the automated clearing hatch. After getting rid of his tray, he's out the door, a happy swagger in his step.

Sherlock’s cheeks are still tinged with red when he does the same a few minutes later.

_John isn't going to believe what just happened._

 

——The End——  


**Author's Note:**

> While this light interlude may seem innocent enough, some elements of it will gain a darker tinge in The Drift War. Be patient. That sequel will be a big story.


End file.
